


Cheek to Cheek

by orphan_account



Series: My Best Girl [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Crossdressing, Genderfuck, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 12:56:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1745402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Tell you what,' Bucky said, his arm coming out to push Steve gently further into the sidewalk as a car trundled past, spraying some of the icy slush up into the air. 'We'll head in again next week, alright? And you'll dance if I have to dance with you myself.'</p><p>Steve laughed at that, a short huff of humor followed by a couple of light coughs. He swiped at his forehead, flattening his part. 'That'll be a sight,'  he said, but honestly thought that if there were anyone he'd like to dance with, it'd be Bucky.</p><p> <br/><i>Steve and Bucky, rooftops and dancing, crossdressing and porn, and little else.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheek to Cheek

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Cheek to Cheek](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2397329) by [Sebattini (blueaway)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueaway/pseuds/Sebattini)



> For Holmesbody, who wanted crossdressing Bucky. As always, it is, all of it, for you.

Steve lingered by the staircase in the dance hall, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. Or rather, it was Bucky's jacket (several sizes too big), and it sat over his own, swamping him further. It was warm in the hall with twirling bodies, music and laughter, but it had been freezing outside. The sort of cold that rattled Steve's chest and made him ache all over. 

'Here, pal,' Bucky had said, as Steve tried to hide a rasping cough in his sleeve. He'd shrugged off his own jacket, throwing it around Steve's shoulders along with a friendly arm and a grin. It was cold enough that there were light implications of snow drifting down with the breeze, but for all he let on, Bucky couldn't feel so much as a slight chill in just his shirtsleeves and suspenders. 

Now, he was dancing with some pretty girl on the chequered floor, those sleeves rolled up to his elbows and that grin directed at the blonde, who's curls were bouncing pleasantly as they moved to the music. 

Steve left the jacket on, and the dance floor alone. 

*

'You coulda danced, Stevie,' Bucky teased as they wandered home a couple of hours later. It was snowing with more commitment now, turning the streets to ice and slush under their feet. Still double jacketed, Steve could feel his cheeks flushing with the sting of cold. Bucky must have been freezing, but he didn't let on, gesturing his hands rather than stuffing them in his pockets, and yammering on without any hint of a chatter to his teeth. 

'With who, Buck?' sighed Steve. He didn't mind going to the dance halls with Bucky. The music was always good, and he liked watching people – the guys and the gals both – as they swung and turned with each other on the scuffed floor. But he didn't like this line of questioning after. Even if someone was going to dance with the scrawny guy swaddled up in two mismatched jackets by the stairs, he'd get a few minutes into those sets before either his chest would start to feel tight and his heart would start to flutter worryingly, or his asthma would kick in. Either way, it would end with him hyperventilating in the corner of the room. 

'Tell you what,' Bucky said, his arm coming out to push Steve gently further into the sidewalk as a car trundled past, spraying some of the icy slush up into the air. 'We'll head in again next week, alright? And you'll dance if I have to dance with you myself.'

Steve laughed at that, a short huff of humor followed by a couple of light coughs. He swiped at his forehead, flattening his part. 'That'll be a sight,' he said, but honestly thought that if there were anyone he'd like to dance with, it'd be Bucky. 'Gonna keep a paper bag in your pocket?'

'If it'll get you onto the floor, pal. You can breath into it even as we foxtrot our way across the room, alright?'

Laughing again, Steve nodded. 'No one'll kick up a stink at that, I'm sure. Two fellas in the dance hall, one of them struggling to keep his lungs working.'

'Since when have you ever cared about someone kicking up a stink?' Bucky asked, and Steve grinned and shrugged. 'Anyway, I can find you a dame. Maggie has a sister, you know. Granted, she'd be about a foot taller than you...'

'Er,' Steve replied. 

'Yeah okay, maybe not.'

Steve pulled the jackets even tighter around himself and glanced at Bucky. His fingers felt chilled to the bone; Bucky still hadn't even rolled his sleeves down, his bare forearms showing goosebumps that he didn't seem to mind. 'Don't worry about a dame, Buck.'

Bucky grinned. 'So, you and me then? I'll be your dame.'

'Yeah,' Steve replied, breathing out a laugh again and joking along. 'You and me all the way.'

*

Steve couldn't work out how Bucky kept it secret all week, since they shared a room and a very small living space, but somehow he did, and the joke was cruel. Very cruel. 

'What are you wearing, Buck?' Steve asked, somewhere between long suffering and stifling laughter. Bucky stood in the door way of the bathroom, flicking the lone curl of his short hair away from his face with a lopsided grin. 

'Ready for the dance hall, pip?' he asked Steve, who felt heat rising in his cheeks. 

'You're a jerk,' Steve breathed out. 'C'mon, you can't leave the house like that. Stop messing around.'

'Who's messing?' Bucky asked, reaching for his coat. As if he were going to just... shrug into his long coat over, over that. Steve found he could hardly get breath out, but he wasn't sure whether it was from laughter, or shock, or- 

Bucky stood there, somehow resplendent and ludicrous at once, in a dark pleated skirt that hung to his knees, belted high up on his waist, creating the illusion of curves. The pale green blouse he was wearing had a steep draped neckline that showed too much of his lightly haired chest. 

He was still wearing, Steve noted, his usual scuffed Chuck Taylor's. 'You look ridiculous,' Steve tried to say, but the words came out hollow as they caught in his throat. 

Bucky didn't look ridiculous. He looked amazing. Or, well, Steve wasn't sure yet. Maybe both. 

'Where did you even get those?' he finally stammered out, and Bucky absurdly, beautifully, ran his hands over the soft fabric of his skirt. 

'Had them lying around for a while,' he said. 'I like 'em. Never really get the chance to put them on though.'

Steve blinked, unsure where to go with that. 'Oh,' he said. So, maybe the joke wasn't at his expense then? Or not entirely at least. Was there a joke? 'Okay then, but Bucky... we still can't go to the dance hall with you like that. You know that.'

Bucky made a face of bemused dismissal, furrowing one brow. 'The hell we can't.'

'Well,' Steve said, and Bucky was advancing now, pulling on his coat as he made a grab for Steve's wrist to pull him out the door. 

'We can take on anyone who tries to stop us,' Bucky laughed, apparently sincere. Sincerely ready to drag Steve out into the night and face down as much disapproval and probably violent reaction as they had to to sincerely waltz across the floor together down at the Theater. 

But Steve reached out as Bucky went for the door knob, and pushed it closed as soon as it opened. 'Maybe,' he said hesitantly, 'maybe another time, Bucky. Tonight maybe just the roof, okay? Just you and me.' 

Apparently, that was good enough for Bucky. With an acquiescent shrug, he put his hands up, palms out, in surrender and stepped back from the door. He turned, and his skirt followed the movement, billowing out smoothly again and then settling against his calves. 

'Going to help me move the record player?' Bucky asked, and Steve hurried to follow him, dragging his gaze away with effort from the soft, swishing material. The gramophone was a heavy old thing, tinny and prone to scratching. Their little one bedroom apartment was on the top floor of the building, and on occasion they'd been known to push the gramophone to the window before, climb up the fire escape and listen to the brassy music from the roof on particularly pleasant nights. 

That's what they did now, Steve coughing as Bucky went to climb up the ladder ahead of him. Not coughing from illness for once, at least; just a pointed clearing of the throat. 

'Uh, maybe I should go first, Bucky,' he said. 

Bucky's hand was hovering over one of the metal rungs, and he glanced over his shoulder to glance at Steve, who was looking away and scratching his nose, aware of the flush riding high on his cheeks. 

'Alright, you first, Stevie,' Bucky said with a wink. 'Wouldn't wanna lost my dignity.'

It was a pretty mild night for the time of year, enough so that Steve's chest wasn't feeling tight or blocked up, and he could almost breath easily as he pulled himself up the fire escape. He could feel the ladder shudder in his hands as Bucky climbed on below him, shuffling up to nudge the crown to his head against Steve's thigh. 

'Budge up, budge up,' he said. Steve chuckled, and hoisted himself onto the roof with a deep breath. It was early evening, and the sky dark and clear – a chocolate color from the smoke that lingered at the horizon and the still fading light of the recently set sun. 

Bucky came up from below, flattening the folds of his skirt down consciously and checking them for markings of rust from the ladder. The music was loud enough that he could hear the metallic jazzy tones floating up, and even Fred Astaire's voice carried up quite clearly in the calm night. 

'So,' Steve said, and paused, finding his hands drifting to straighten the crease in his own trousers. He looked up at Bucky, his head tilted a little down, and continued: 'We dancing or what?'

He couldn't... he couldn't exactly say why they were doing this. Wasn't sure Bucky knew why they were doing this. It could just have had something to do with the trickling, booming start of a war in places across the sea that Steve had never seen, but felt obligated to. It could have had something to do with the growing sense of prosperity washing away the destitution of the past decade or so. Or it could just be them, him and Bucky. Dancing. 

Their building wasn't the tallest around, this roof hobbled amongst the dipping and rising mountains of the city. That is to say, it wasn't private, exactly. Steve felt like he could sense a hundred eyes on him, peering through curtains and out of cracked open windows. Whispering. Bucky didn't seem self conscious, though. He looked as at ease as ever. 

'Why you dressed as a dame?' Steve murmured as Bucky stepped closer. He held out his hand for Steve to take, but Steve hesitated. 

'Two things,' Bucky replied. 'I'm not. And I said I'd find you one to dance with this week.'

'But you're not dressed like one?'

Bucky shrugged, and pushed his hand further insistently. 'Next best thing?'

Steve huffed out a laugh, and finally took Bucky's hand. A smooth saxophone solo was drifting up to the roof, and Steve hadn't danced since school, maybe. He wasn't sure. Couldn't remember. 

'Okay,' he said. 

'You leading?' Bucky asked, even while pulling Steve to spin in closer to him with the music. Steve went, stumbling to turn on his unpracticed feet. His shoulder bumped Bucky's chest, slipped against liquid fabric. 

'Er, I haven't for a while,' he answered. 

'It's just you and me,' Bucky said, turning Steve again, manhandling him along with the music until they were close, facing each other. 'I'm sure we'll manage.' 

He put his hand on Steve's shoulder. Steve reached out and placed his hand on Bucky's waist, his thumb brushing over the soft leather of the belt that was cinching in that skirt. Steve closed his eyes. He tried to hear the music, the tempo. 

'Alright,' he said, and opened his eyes. He took a step forward, leaning his weight in – what little weight there was. Bucky stepped back with his matching foot, paired to the shift in their bodies. And they fell into a steady rhythm. _Rock-step-back-step-rock-step-back_. Steve hadn't danced for a while, but he'd always enjoyed it. 

The music was soft enough that when they misstepped and laughed, they would drown it out and have to pause to pick up the tempo again, but somehow it worked. The night was settling in, dimmer and dimmer, but it wouldn't get truly dark while the city was still awake, fires in ovens, lights on, and the distant murmurings of people making dinner and listening to the radio. 

Steve knew that Bucky knew more dances than this, knew the steps and knew how to lead them. But they didn't bother. Before long, they just slowed down until they were just sort of shuffling and swaying without real intent or purpose, just vaguely to the movements of the music. 

'So is it like if a lady wears trousers?' Steve said, and Bucky hummed noncommittally in response. 'She's not doing it because she wants to be a fella. She's just wearing what she prefers to wear.'

'I guess,' Bucky chuckled, his fingers tightening around Steve's, and chin brushing against his temple. 'Does it bother you?'

 _It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen_. 'No.'

'I'd bother most people.'

There's not much to say to that. 'I'm happy we didn't go to the dance hall,' Steve says instead. 

'I gotta admit, that was a slightly... self-destructive idea.' 

'It's nicer up here.' 

A light breeze was picking up, fluttering Bucky's skirt against Steve's trousers; but the night seemed still. That's what was nice about it. It seemed to hang like a fragment of time, and Steve had a conscious moment of clarity – a sense of a memory being formed that would settle in him and trigger whenever he smelt that smell of late autumn evenings, and chimney dust, and oil, and Bucky. He breathed out, and in again, letting it all just... linger. 

They were both quiet, the music drifting clearly up over the low rumble of traffic. 

Bucky's hand shifted on Steve's shoulder, sliding upwards to rest on his neck, thumb brushing just below Steve's ear. 'Did ya mean it, Steve?' he asks, voice soft with humor. 'When you said I looked ridiculous?'

'It's the shoes, Buck,' he answered. He could feel Bucky vibrate with laughter against him. 

'Should I get some new ones to go with the get up?' he asked, and Steve's heart thudded in his chest at the idea of Bucky in neat black heels. Round toed with a little bow sitting just below the bone of his ankle. 

'Yeah,' he said, hoping he could say he was breathless from the dancing. Asthma. Although he felt the best he'd felt in a good while. 

'Nothing with a heel though,' Bucky said thoughtfully, 'or we'd dance and I'd tower over you, pal. Prop my chin right on your head. Not to mention I wouldn't know how to walk. How do they do that, anyway?' 

'Athletic prowess.' 

'Damn impressive.' The hand at Steve's throat slipped around so that Bucky's arm was wrapped over the back of his shoulders, pulling Steve in even closer. Pressed flush together, Steve could feel the metal on Bucky's belt pressing against his stomach, could feel where the skirt slipped between Bucky's legs as they continued to shuffle and sway. 'You're something, Rogers,' Bucky muttered into his ear. 

Steve grinned. 'Next to you? Yeah, sure.' 

The gramophone was playing something a bit more uptempo now, but they didn't make much effort to match it, still just dancing close, shuffling in slow loops on the spot. Steve couldn't help but to glance at the windows around them here and there, conscious of how conspicuous they must look, alone on the rooftop. But he never saw anyone peering. 

No one peeking out between white drapes at the two fellas on the roof-top, one frail and slight, the other in a fashionable skirt and scuffed sports shoes. 

'Steve?' Bucky said quietly after a long moment of comfortable silence. Steve's head was resting against Bucky's shoulder, cheek pressed to the soft material of the draped shirt, that smelt of newness and never having been worn – unlike the rest of their clothes, which always carried the faint scent of wear no matter how much Steve scrubbed at them, nor no matter how hot and soapy the water was. 

'I guess we should head back in at some point,' he muttered in response, having no desire to do so at all. 

'Ah, not that, pal,' Bucky said with a soft laugh that ruffled through Steve's hair. 

'Hmm?' 

Bucky cleared his throat, and chuckled – more strained than Steve was used to. 'It's just, I can feel... you got a bit of wood going there, buddy.' 

Freezing, Steve's stomach dropped. He hadn't even, how hadn't he noticed? He had been so absorbed in the still night, the drifting music, Bucky's body against his, that he hadn't even realized he was half hard in his pants. 

'Oh, hell,' he said, stepping back as quickly as he could, and carding a hand through his hair. 'Hell, I'm sorry Bucky, I had no idea-- I don't know where that came---' 

But Bucky was grinning. 'Aw, here I was hoping it was because I'm pretty.' 

'That's not to say—' Steve took a deep breath. 'Look, I'm going to head back down... just, sorry, you know, can't control it...' It sounded weak to his own ears, but what was he supposed to say? How absolutely _gorgeous_ Bucky looked like that? How, if Steve let his mind linger there, all he wanted to do was just push his hand up under that skirt and _touch_. Hastily, he bore his retreat back to the fire escape. 

Bucky hadn't moved, just standing there, still with a half-grin that was fading to something... else. Just before Steve disappeared down the ladder, he saw Bucky slide his hand down to the front of his skirt, palming himself with a heavy pressure, and let out a sigh. 'I'll be down in a bit,' Bucky said, his voice carrying over the brick edge of the building. 

At the bottom of the railed ladder, Steve slipped back in through the window and stood in the living room trying to understand what was happening. What had he just done? He had done what he was meant to do. What he should do if he didn't want to ruin everything with his best friend. Right? Or...

Finally, just when Steve was starting to maybe hyperventilate, and still hadn't moved from the center of the living room, Bucky ducked his head under the window pane. 

'Hey,' he said. 

Steve took in a deliberately slow breath. Count to three. Breath out through the mouth. 'Hey.'

'Wanna help me move the record player back?' 

'Sure.' 

Do things, Steve thought. Normal things. Ignore it. Stay calm.

It didn't help that he was still hard. Possibly harder than he had been before. 

'Look,' Bucky said, hands firm on the glazed wood of the gramophone. He lifted a little, and Steve hurried over to help move it across the room without scratching the floor. 'This was my fault, I... I dunno Steve, I pushed. Don't worry.' His voice came a little ragged from the exertion of moving the heavy object. They put it down in its usual spot, lining it up with the patch of dustless ground. 

Bucky scratched the nape of his neck. 

'I'm gonna get changed,' he said. 

'No!' Steve blurted, surprising himself with his own vehemency. 'I mean... just, don't. Wear what you want, Buck.' 

Looking pained, Bucky said (in a low voice), 'There's a lotta things I want. I'm just, I'm wondering what _you_ want.' 

It wasn't phrased like a question, and Steve could see what his friend was doing: he was giving him an out. A chance simply not to say anything. To go and get something to drink from the kitchen and then turn in for the night and not talk about it again. 

Steve Rogers never, ever, backed out of anything. 

'I want you to take those shoes off, Bucky.' 

And Bucky did, stepping on the heels to slide his feet out without unlacing. There wasn't an easy grin on his face, or anything confused or apathetic or pleased. Steve found he couldn't read Bucky's expression at all.

His feet were bare against the wooden floor, and he looked more... whole now. Unified. Exposed feet leading up into curved ankle bones, legs dusted in dark hair, and then the hemline of the skirt. Hanging still and pleated like how Steve would draw folds of soft fabrics on passing women when he sketched street scenes from the window. 

'What else?' 

'I want...' Steve took a step forward. 'What do _you_ want, Bucky?' 

'Whatever's on offer,' Bucky replied plainly. Closer now, Steve closed his eyes as he relinquished the last of the space between them. Bucky's hand came out, seemingly to reach for Steve's face or neck – perhaps to pull him into a kiss. Steve wasn't sure. The hand never reached its destination. Instead, Steve just dropped to his knees, hearing a somewhat choked, thwarted huff come from above him. 

Hesitantly, Steve reached out to push the skirt up, his hands sliding over the skin of Bucky's legs. 

'You should get some hosiery,' he murmured, his fingers grazing over the soft skin at the back of Bucky's knees, his thumbs pinning the skirt up so that he could see every inch of skin as it was revealed. 

Bucky sucked in a breath. 'Yeah,' he said on the exhale. Steve felt a small twitch in the skin under his fingers. 'I'll get on that. Shoes and stockings. Anything else?'

'Well,' Steve pondered, buoyed by a thudding feeling of elation and anticipation, 'what are you wearing under here?'

Bucky just snickered. 

_There's your answer_ , Steve thought, as he pushed the skirt up further, his cock pulsing and aching pleasantly in his trousers. Sure enough, as his hands slid higher and higher, caressing and masochistically slow, Steve came across no further barriers. Suddenly, there he was, kneeling on the floor with his hands pinning the skirt at Bucky's waist, eye level with Bucky's bare erection. 

' _Shit_ ,' Bucky said, looking down. Steve was blinking in the face of Bucky's perfect blushing cock, his mouth parting automatically, and tongue darting forward to dampen his lips. 

'Can you hold this, please?' Steve asked, voice absent and gaze absolutely transfixed. His fingers tightened pointedly on the hem of the skirt. 

Immediately, Bucky dropped his hands to hold the skirt up and out of the way. 'Fuck, Steve, are you going to--' 

'Mmm hmm,' Steve hummed, not even entirely sure what he was asserting to, but pretty certain they were on the same page. He was surprised by how emphatically he wanted Bucky's erection in his mouth, having never before given much real thought to the idea. It was a very sudden onset, absolutely _burning_ need. 

Knees shifting against the hardwood of the floor, Steve angled closer, moving his hands from where they were hovering over the skirt that Bucky had taken from his grip to ghost them instead over the shape of Bucky's cock. In doing so, he caught a pearl of precum on the top of his fingernail, and brought it to his mouth, licking it off without thinking. It tasted salty and... he wasn't sure. Unfamiliar, but not necessarily unpleasant. 

Above him, Bucky was swearing, possibly half begging him to get on with it. Steve wasn't really listening. 

'Okay,' he said, wrapping one hand determinedly around the base of Bucky's cock to keep it steady, and bracing the other hand on Bucky's hip, under the hoisted up skirt. 'Okay.' 

He took Bucky into his mouth, sliding his lips down to meet with his own hand, and immediately moaned around Bucky's cock. He was heavy and alive on his tongue, tasting bitter at the back of his throat and all over just like lust and heady arousal. 

He felt a tremor quiver through Bucky's body, and above him his friend was groaning in a way Steve had never heard before. 'Oh hell, Steve,' Bucky was panting, between sounds that weren't quite words. 'Holy shit, just... goddamn. You do this a lot?' 

Steve pulled back a little, so only the tip of Bucky's cock was in his mouth, pulsing on his tongue, and looked up at his friend past the bunched up folds of the skirt. He raised an eyebrow. Bucky laughed. 

'No, okay, course not. Well--' and there Bucky broke off to swear some as Steve swallowed him down again... '– well, you're a born, a born cocksucker, Steve.' 

Unsure if that was meant to please him as much as it did, Steve grinned a little around Bucky, and went back to work, bobbing his head and closing his eyes as he concentrated on taking Bucky apart with his hands, tongue and mouth. 

It didn't take long before Bucky was gasping for breath above him, his legs shaking with the effort of staying upright, and his fingers clenching and unclenching in the fabric of his own skirt. 

'Stop,' Bucky choked out above him, and Steve paused, his tongue caressing Bucky's frenulum and eyes open and blinking up at his friend. He didn't really _want_ to stop. 'Stop,' Bucky insisted. 'I don't wanna come yet, Steve, I want...' 

Reluctantly, Steve pulled back, shifting his weight so he was resting his weight on his ankles and looking up at Bucky, who's saliva-slick cock was still bobbing temptingly at eye level. 

'What do you want?' Steve asked, surprised at how hoarse his voice came out. Now that he didn't have Bucky's cock in his mouth, he was suddenly startled by how desperately, painfully turned on he was, his erection trapped at and odd angle between the band of his underwear and his thigh, throbbing and forming a patch of damp precum. He moved his palm to press down on his cock, shifting things around and squeezing absently, a moan escaping as he did so. 

'That,' Bucky said, his eyes following Steve's movements. 'Inside me.' 

Stomach dropping, Steve felt momentarily out of his depth. 'Hell, Bucky, I don't--' 

'There's Vaseline in my mattress,' Bucky said. He was still standing there, with the skirt hitched up around his waist, but only with the one hand. The other hand had come forward to thumb over Steve's cheek and mouth, wiping away a small smear of saliva and precum. 

'No, not that,' Steve said, feeling a self conscious flush rise up on his cheeks. 'You know Bucky, I'm not that b-- I don't know if... I really like sucking your cock. I _know_ I can satisfy you like that. Not that I don't want to, with the other thing. Obviously _I_ do, but for you...' 

But Bucky just laughed. 'Shit, Steve, don't worry about _that_ ,' he said. 'I don't care. I just want you in me.' 

Steve chewed his lip. 'Alright,' he said. 'I promise I'll make it good for you, Buck, okay?'

'Never a doubt,' his friend replied with a grin. Steve got to his feet, legs shaking, and ducked into their bedroom. In the mattress, Bucky had said. He approached the bed, and dropped down, lifting up the sheets and peering around. 

'Shall I join you in there?' Bucky called through the open door, just as Steve found a slit in the mattress cover, and pushed his hand inside. 

Steve grinned. 'You better not have moved a muscle, Buck,' he said, warningly. His hand closed around the little bottle of Vaseline, and he tugged it out. 

Back in the living room, Bucky hadn't really moved a muscle – or if he had, he'd then moved back. He was still holding up the skirt so that his erection peeked out under the fabric, and standing stock still in the center of the room. 'How d'ya want me?' he asked. 

'Just like,' Steve walked over, trying to look more confident than he felt, and took Bucky's hips in his hands, turning him around so he faced the couch. 'Over the armrest, Bucky,' he said. Bucky went, stepping forward til he was level with the chair, and acquiesced as Steve nudged him gently forward, his hand on his lower back. 

The skirt fell up, leaving him fully exposed. The swell of his buttocks, the heavy weight of his cock peeking out between his legs, brushing against the sofa.

'Slow, yeah, Stevie?' Bucky panted out against where his face was resting on the cushion. Steve unscrewed the lid of the Vaseline. 'Not just, all in at once. Fingers first.'

Steve hummed in agreement, and dipped his fingers into the lotion, slicking them up. 'Tell me if I'm going too fast,' he murmured, and brought his non-slippery hand up to part the cheeks of Bucky's ass. He let out a ragged, nervous breath. 

'And Stevie?' 

'Yeah?'

Bucky chuckled softly. ' _Relax_ ,' he reminded him, and Steve laughed too. 

'Got it, Buck,' he said, focusing on calming his thudding heart as he reached out with his forefinger, swirling it around the little, flushed hole before him. There was some slight resistance as he pushed inside, but Bucky opened quickly, swallowing Steve's finger inside him. 

He let out a low groan. 'That's it Steve, make me wet,' he breathed. 'Make me so, so wet. Like a dame.'

Steve pulled his finger out, and slathered it in more petroleum jelly. Bucky was looser when he pressed inside him again, and he spent several long moments just smearing copious amounts of lotion around his hole with his thumb. Bucky writhed against the armrest, his skirt dropping even further down. 

'Like that?' he asks, pushing two fingers past Bucky's entrance this time. The generous amount of lubricant was doing its job, and Bucky was writhing up, pressing back against Steve's fingers wantonly. 

'Am I wet?' he asked, and Steve almost wasn't sure how to reply, because of how obvious it seemed, the slick sounds of Steve's fingers fucking into Bucky filling the quiet air of the apartment. 

But he just said: 'Hell, Buck, you're _soaking_ ,' and pushed his fingers in deeper. He must have done something right, because Bucky all but shouted in pleasure, his legs trembling and shaking where they propped him up. 

'Shh,' Steve said, reflexively, tightening his fingers that weren't buried inside Bucky on the flesh of his ass, but Bucky just shook his head. 

'To hell with the neighbors Steve, and do _that_ again,' he groaned. 

Steve pushed his fingers deep again, and again Bucky writhed up and shook, a hoarse sound escaping him. 'This?'

' _Yes, that_ ,' he panted out. 'Do I need another finger?'

Steve looked down. 'Do you want one? You'll take me just fine like this, I think.'

Bucky shook his head vigorously, and pushed at his skirt, trying to reposition it. 'If you think so, go for it,' he urged. 

'Okay,' Steve said, withdrawing his fingers slowly, and dipping them again in the Vaseline, spreading even more over Bucky's entrance. With slippery hands, he reached down to unbutton his pants. 'Okay.'

With Bucky bent over the arm of the sofa like this, it didn't matter that Steve was small in stature compared to his friend. He could line up his cock with Bucky's tight entrance and not feel dwarfed by him, and he did. One hand splayed out over Bucky's lower back, the other holding his cock, keeping it steady as he pressed forward, he angled himself to push into Bucky. 

'Ready?' he breathed out, not sure whether he was just asking Bucky, or also checking with himself. He felt like his heartbeat was chasing its way up his throat. 

Bucky just swore, and pushed back so that he was rubbing against the head of Steve's cock. 'Not gonna last long, though,' he pointed out, and Steve just snorted. 

'Buck,' he said. 

'Oh right, you're-- yeah, good point.'

Steve pushed inside him, and Bucky immediately let out a long litany of obscenities. 

'That okay?'

'Those are--' Bucky let out a low, ragged moan. 'Those are good noises, Stevie. You are just, just the perfect size, you know that?'

'Oh, shut up, wise guy,' Steve replied, voice catching in his throat as he thrust unevenly into Bucky's tight warmth. He was hot and delicious around him, and Steve could already feel the dull burn of his orgasm building. 

'No, you hit me just, oh, shit, Steve, _just there_ ,' he gasped out as Steve pushed in as deep as he could go again. Bucky's legs were shaking uncontrollably, and his hands were clutching the cover on the sofa. What Steve could see of his face past the folds of the skirt was flushed and scrunched up in pleasure. 

Steve tried to set a steady rhythm, just to see Bucky squirm like that on every down-stroke. He wouldn't last long, but he kept his breathing even and focused on his heart not pounding its way out of his chest, and found he was keeping his head above water, at least. 

Bucky, meanwhile, was coming apart. 'Shit Steve, you're gonna have to touch me soon,' he gasped, pushing back against Steve's thrust. 

'Course, Bucky,' he said, bringing his hand around to stroke at Bucky's flushed, leaking cock. 

'And, and, and tell me I'm your best girl.' Bucky sounded almost delirious on that one, and Steve rubbed an unsteady hand over his flank, pumping his cock in time with his thrusts with the other one. There was no way he could hold out much longer, he needed Bucky to come. 

'I thought you weren't bein' a dame?' he prompted, his voice catching around ragged breaths. 

''M not,' Bucky gasped. 'But tell me that, Stevie, tell me I'm your best girl. _Please_.'

'You are, of course you are. You're _the_ best girl,' Steve stammered out sincerely, losing the rhythm of thrusting, but Bucky didn't seem to care, writhing and pumping into Steve's fist. 'My best girl, Buck. Always my best girl.'

Bucky came. He tightened around Steve's cock, and his cock pulsed in Steve's hand, emptying himself onto the armrest of the chair, and letting out a long, low moan. Steve followed him over the edge, unable to hold onto his control for a moment longer. 

The world almost seemed to go black, and for a moment after he came, Steve was genuinely worried for his heart. But slowly, his heart slowed down and evened out, and beneath him Bucky just panted and shook and occasionally fluttered around Steve's softening cock. 

'My best girl,' Steve mumbled, pressing soft lips to Bucky's back, and caught sight of a warm smile pressed against the sofa cushion. 

*

The next week, snow was falling again. It piled up on the windowsill and rimmed the glass with little vignettes of frost. 

It was evening, and Bucky was polishing off some beans and toast, leaning against the kitchen counter as Steve sketched. 

'Shall we go to the dance hall this week, pip?' he asked around a mouthful, and smirked over the rim of the plate as Steve looked him up and down. Suspenders and shirtsleeves rolled up. Pressed trousers. Little black heels with a bow sitting just under his smooth ankle. 

'Love to,' Steve answered. 

They never left the house.


End file.
